In my childhood home we ate couscous only in one way. Hand made and steamed over a pot of soup. It was almost impossible to enter our small kitchen when mom would make couscous. In one bowl there was the semolina that mom would wet slowly while stirring so that no clumps would form.
"What’s for dinner?” asks my teenager as he throws his bag at the corner of the kitchen and opens the refrigerator. “I don’t know yet” I answer. “I’m starving” he adds. As a family, one of the traditions that we try to keep is to eat dinner together every night, which means cooking daily. I have a few basic rules for day to day cooking.
"What will we have for lunch?” I asked as I was standing in front of the open refrigerator, enjoying the cool breeze that it provided. “I really feel like salad” answered my better half as she sat right across from the air conditioner. “Salad? We eat salad every evening” i said. “Not that kind of salad” she replied, “you know what I mean”.
“Is there nothing else to eat?” I asked opening the pot on the stove. “No” said mom, “sit down and I’ll fix you a plate.” “No,I don’t like it, I’ll make something.” “What will you make?” Mom insisted, “salad” I answered opening the refrigerator. “But salad is not a meal”.